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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26508103">Sleep</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizlow/pseuds/Lizlow'>Lizlow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bad Apple Wars (Visual Novel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Pre-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:41:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,143</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26508103</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizlow/pseuds/Lizlow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>when the canvas of the purest white has yet to step before him, where does he go? the mysteriously odd yellow simply 'exists'. and when the sun has neither risen nor set upon their faces, the faces of those who have rejected it, the faces of those who seek it, what should he do? </p>
<p>he chooses to wander, to be and yet not at the same time. a light breeze beneath his feet, trailing dust instead of footprints, all ready to once again fade, fade into the shaded sleep that he has accepted must one day come.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Shikishima &amp; Alma (Bad Apple Wars)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sleep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Goodness, it's been sometime since I've written Shikishima! I still absolutely adore him. I've written Higa a bit before, but not Alma, so hopefully this is enjoyable to read! I've missed Shikishima... and BAW quite a bit!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If one ever dared to ask the <em> Sun </em> to sleep away, then what words would it grant as an answer? That there is a new direction for <em> them </em> to take and, in it, there’s a necessity for light, so they cannot yet rest? That they must not yet hide away? How curious the answer is, so out of reach as well, for a lost seed such as he. </p>
<p>See him there, and imagine what he could be. A little sprout, watered so deeply that he cannot breathe without the warmth of the providing rays. Yet, <em> he </em> isn’t sure that he deserves that much; he’s content where he’s buried, isn’t he? Should this not have been his fate, for his lungs to fill and fill more, for the dark to keep and keep him more? Surely, there exists no other alternative, save for leaving him to wander and wade amongst the pit, aimless, distant... <em> beautiful</em>. </p>
<p>Not ‘good’ nor ‘bad’ but <em> peculiar</em>. </p>
<p>That is how it is. The wind will carry <em> the him </em> that will never be properly planted, and he will not fight for the beams that the others surely require more. Destiny has called for him to float, from view, from in, from out. </p>
<p>He wraps himself deeper in his scarf, breathing out and smiling beneath it. He places his brush upon his tethered canvas, overlooking the gymnasium - empty but spacious. Soon, soon, another handful of lost flowers will be brought here; will they lose themselves and be ‘good’ or dig further, further into their core, like the ‘rotten’ little peeps this school so tries to prevent them to be? Will their roots wither, crying, crying, or will they stand firm, proud, <em> certain</em>? </p>
<p><em> Ah </em>, regardless, he strokes light, and little butterflies prepare to fly away as soon as he lifts his instrument. They will turn to dust, crumbling not long after, a lovely farewell to a fleeting image, just like the buds he sketches, plants, and watches as they fade to red within the foggy cast of this pretty sky. Will someone out there shed a tear, just for that? He wonders, but he isn’t sure. </p>
<p>Perhaps somewhere out there in the plains of this world, beyond the gates, if there is more than a void, there exists a person, a spirit, who might weep for what they do not know, reach for what they cannot grasp, shine for what they cannot see. </p>
<p>But... speaking of the tiny, false blooms, just... yesterday? The day before, mayhaps? No matter, <em> previously</em>, Shikishima set upon himself to try to liven up the <em> Bad Apples </em>home just a bit. It was a whim, for the rowdy and confident and colorful voices combating strictness, and disciplining themselves to livelihood. While he worked there, drawing up stems and petals of varying shapes and sizes and angles, their leader came approaching quietly, and rooted them with his own hands. </p>
<p>“<em> Alma-kun, I thank your generosity. Once more, I am able to observe how you twist around the restricting poles that so threaten your efforts, and turn them to your own assistant.” </em></p>
<p>Reflecting on this, however brief it might have flashed, takes a time he does not know. How many minutes have passed? Is that relevant at all? Of course not; that is what is impressive of NEVAEH. There’s no semblance of smooth line, simply one that is. It is a little bubble somewhere in the atmosphere, where their bodies are images, tools, and they <em> are </em> . When the ‘night’ should come, it is only a market to keep <em> sleep </em> ‘normal.’ When their eyes close, their souls blink away fatigue, momentarily. Will he too be so variable, so destined to be until no one recalls? He wonders, wonders where it is his soul is located, and when it will too pass further, further -</p>
<p>- beyond comprehension. </p>
<p>Oh, but he already is that, is he not? And that is <em> okay</em>, absolutely, positively <em> fine</em>. He is who he is, and he doesn’t intend to change that. As he steps down and out of the gymnasium, passing an apology when a Good Apple looks him way, he glances once more toward the cloudy, crimson sky. It consumes but does not completely hinder all the light the little, struggling, fiery voices are standing up to <em>everything </em> for. </p>
<p>Surprising enough, the shouts of Higa and Yoh in the distance actually, temporarily, break through his internal contemplation. Perhaps it is Higa’s sheer devotion and energy to something he <em> loves wholly </em> , admittedly, that fascinates him, something that makes him ever <em> unique</em>, incomparably so. It’s what holds on his interests that separates him from becoming a dull, little lost seed, he believes. </p>
<p>Shikishima takes to walking over toward the pair, searing himself down in the shade of one of the nearby buildings. Yoh points him out and Higa whirls around and waves - he’d motion for Shikishima to join in, if he didn't immediately recall that Shikishima, a light breeze in his own right, is not good at sports at all. Why pull in an impediment when it will not work out?</p>
<p>Why worry the lungs of a soul that cannot handle it well? </p>
<p>Higa instead shouts, “I’m not gonna toss this at’cha without asking, but if ya ever wanna give it a shot, lemme know! I dunno if I’ve ever seen ya visibly stressed, but this is good for that.” </p>
<p>Even if he’s, what’s the word, an ‘amateur?’ Interesting, ever kind... Shikishima nods in a small display of gratitude, flashing a smile that causes Higa to shrug off and continue passing the ball back and forth with Yoh. It is possible that it’s on advice from his ‘older brother’ that he persists in trying to include Shikishima, but it is a warm gesture nonetheless. Shikishima figures that soon they’ll practice a bit of batting - what a convenient piece Higa’s <em> Soul Totem </em> has since come to be. </p>
<p>Shikishima himself sets to work sketching away, grey lines, in this book of his. Is it precious? Perhaps it can be considered so, for they must not, cannot, be separated. He cannot cease to do this, for this is <em> all </em> that there could be. He would come to breathe again nevermore. </p>
<p>While he ponders, allowing the light to twirl around his chosen focus, he hears footsteps that aren’t the rushed, rumbling presses of two youths playing a sport. No, these steps are softer, far quieter, as though he is letting the ground carry him instead of disturbing it. Still, Shikishima notices it, as the world does not move without a source - and this person just might be one of the ones to propel this one. </p>
<p>“Alma-kun, afternoon. It would be pleased to be named a good one,” Shikishima says to him as he heads his way and not toward the active ones instead. “Are you not going to join Higa-kun? I am certain he would appreciate his ‘brother’ joining in on the joy he and Yoh-kun are tangled in.”</p>
<p>“No, today, I’ll sit out.” Alma answers him, and ends up picking a spot next to Shikishima, close yet distant enough to not quite be invasive. Shikishima is curious, so much so, about what he could be thinking? What is turning? </p>
<p>But his vocalization is far simpler. “That so? Then please, do not allow me to impede upon your rest.” </p>
<p>“What is today? The paper? Higa?”</p>
<p>“Oh, this? No, this is the adorable sphere that Higa-kun throws to Yoh-kun... In order for it not to be abandoned, I must subject it here. The fun, the ease... the freedom...” </p>
<p>“That so?”</p>
<p>“Yes...” The corners of his eyes mist and tear slightly, “In spite of here, they choose to <em> live </em>. Beautiful...” </p>
<p>Alma doesn’t really get it, and he doesn’t have to pretend to. That’s what Shikishima understands, but there’s no need to force something that cannot be. Even seeing the tilt of the pages and the very <em> avant-garde </em> way of it apparently being ‘the ball Higa throws,’ Alma stays patient, he listens. </p>
<p>Just like a leader. </p>
<p>“And tomorrow?”</p>
<p>“When the next day nestles itself into our presence, it is a mystery on where I will remain. Where will the wind call? Where will my feet carry me? That is where I’ll go... Adrift on the breeze.” </p>
<p>Alma permits the declaration to sit and sift itself through the air. In spite of its vague nature, there’s heart in there. Does he not recognize it? Does he deny it? Deep down, he <em> mustn’t</em>, for he still ‘remains,’ for still he has a grip on himself. The cycle of this school, and the liberation they seek, if you chase the right to <em> be you</em>, then you’ll make it. Even if you have to crawl your way out, you’re not giving up yet. </p>
<p>That’s just Alma’s opinion though. </p>
<p>“You know, you’re essential.” </p>
<p>He breaks the silence and hands out the words he feels he needs to share. There’s no need to mince words, to blanket it back down. That’s what makes him help this group function, now isn’t it? </p>
<p>“‘Essential... huh?” Shikishima smiles, and his eyes glaze to a distance that Alma cannot trace. Is he searching for the flowers that represent the sun that have yet to be? Is he chasing a shadow that only means to haunt him? What is he, really? “I merely ‘am’ for now. I believe you are far more ‘special’ to these adorable apples.” </p>
<p>As long as he ‘resists’ the encapsulating paint of an entrapping scale, while he is ‘him,’ Alma makes the case that he is more than welcome to stand alongside him. But how can that be? Why would that be? </p>
<p>“I don’t know about that. We all play our part.” </p>
<p>“I see... Yes... It is akin to a river, for which all runs into a larger picture. The streams cannot flow without a hill to push them on, and the fish cannot swim without the ripples that give them room to dance. Upon the bank rests the creatures who lap up the liquids, and they will feast on the dwellers and lurkers and they will survive. Every role is encycled, trenched, so deeply, against their will or among it. That sort of ‘life’ is beautiful... isn’t it, Alma-kun?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” </p>
<p>Shikishima doesn’t hum, but if he were, it would be a lovely tune. That’s the amusement within his head - or maybe it’s the distant sound of Sanzu beginning her practice. Yoh excuses himself to join his long-time friend on her ventures of the musical variety. Endearingly, he grins and waves at Shikishima and Alma as he jogs past. The music is powerful, it <em> must </em> be, for Sanzu continues to draw people toward her. Why? How? Does her ‘voice’ reach the others? </p>
<p>Regardless, with the movement of Yoh, Shikishima finishes his final stroke on the paper, and in turn, the ‘ball’ that it contains pops out. It arches through the sky over them, just missing landing on the roof, and instead finds its way into Alma’s hands. It’s a clutter lump of uneven shaping; but it’s the impression that surely must be reflected. Shikishima watches Alma briefly from there, and feels ‘satisfied’ once the leader of the Bad Apples tosses it up and catches it again. </p>
<p>Soon that piece that is called a ‘ball’ will, too, blast through the skies, to the places outside of their comprehension. Is the memory truly ‘captured’ then, if it is too to escape the paper he holds? Some would say so. Whether it is a sentimental bunch, or solely a fondness that must be spared <em> and </em> nurtured, there is no need to further press or elaborate it. That’s what Shikishima decides. </p>
<p>Like most everything, it ‘simply’ is. </p>
<p>He stands up, and states, “I fear the clock has stricken its warning for me, and the time has come for us to part for now, Alma-kun. Please take care.” </p>
<p>“Got it. See you around.” </p>
<p><em> - And don’t forget, you’ll always have a place with us </em>. </p>
<p>Strangely, Shikishima feels those words might have been stuck beneath Alma’s lips, but he doesn’t let them be released. Instead, he implies them with a confirming stare that reaches into his soul. </p>
<p>Curious. </p>
<p>Shikishima doesn’t dwell on this, however. No, he marches right off, to wherever his feet might decide to place him next. Perhaps he’ll come to rest on the bench? It is a mystery; with the only ‘certainty’ being that this is who he is for now. And he is fine with that. Not ‘obedient’ nor ‘rebellious’ but an outlier of his own. </p>
<p>So for now he will sleep away, all of him, his fight, his true desires and regrets, they’ll all persist in their slumber, until someone can pull him from such depths, awaken the truest him from the very center. </p>
<p>All this until he discovers the ‘Sun’ he is searching for... until the day comes where the ‘Sun’ is the one to find him.</p>
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